est. 2008

“Twice a week I pass by the church that held your funeral And the pastor’s words come pouring down like rain How he called you a sinner and said now you walk with Jesus So the drugs that took your life aren’t gonna cause you any pain I don’t think he even knew your nameAnd I refuse to kneel and pray I won’t remember you that way

I lit you a candle in every cathedral across Europe And I hope you know you’re still my patron saintI tried to forgive, but I can’t forget the cigar in his fistI know that they were heartsick, but I need someone to blameAnd I know how they blamed me I know what you’d say You’d tell me it was your fault I should put all my arrows away.

I’m sure there ain’t a heavenBut that don’t mean I don’t like to picture you thereI’ll bet you’re bumming cigarettes off saintsAnd I’m sure you’re still singingBut I’ll bet that you’re still just a bit out of keyThat crooked smile pushing words across your teeth

Cause you were heat lightningYeah, you were a storm that never rolled inYou were the northern lights in a southern town,A constant fleeting thing.I’ll bury your memories in the gardenAnd watch them grow with the flowers in springI’ll keep you with me.”

August is hands-down the strangest time of year. The slow, gorgeous fade of summer begins, fall creeps in around the edges, and every few years or so, my life turns upside down. Given that cycle has continued here in 2015, with the most significant sentimental loss I’ve ever faced, I’m ready to move forward, and with that comes the corresponding soundtrack. I am undeniably, unimaginably excited for the new record from The Wonder Years this fall and the subsequent tour – so much so that writing down sentences about it makes my finger tingle and I smile to myself. Some things don’t change, and that’s the way I feel about this band.

With just two songs out, I can already tell “No Closer to Heaven” is going to be an epic, dramatic album – the kind that “The Greatest Generation” was and continues to be. I see l some of my friends and acquaintances roll their eyes when I tell them I’m still – yes, still – really into pop punk and emo music. They’re especially shocked if they’ve only been familiar with my folk and indie obsessions. But I can’t get over the heightened aggression and flair for dramatic. I can’t stop wanting my heart torn out I cannot stop being impressed by Dan Campbell cutting right to the quick of it, and saying it like it is.

I’ve been binging on “Cigarettes and Saints” today, and I’ve decided this song really crushes it. There’s some kind of triumph behind that first guitar line, crystal-clear and resonant as it fades, only to come back in a patient pattern before the song erupts. The structure overall is drawn out, but purposefully so, like a funeral march, and the second half of the song begins with an anxious tone before finding its footing. “My whole generation got lost in the margin,” Campbell sing-screams in the climax, and I can’t help but think how me as well as the 17-year-olds playing this probably feel that way, too. The way he says “I know they blamed me,” breaks my heart. What kills me most about this song is the overloading of religious imagery without reverence. The candles he lights feel significant, but futile, the pastor’s words are empty and fleeting. And yet our narrator forges ahead, he vows to fight the forces that trigger these sad events, swirling in shame and regret and sadness all the awhile. What a feeling. What a story. I can’t wait for more.

“These wolves in their suits and tiesSaying, “Kid, you can trust me”Charming southern drawl, sunken eyesBuying good will in hotel lobbiesBuy fistfuls of pills to make sure you don’t hurt no moreYou don’t gotta feel anythingGot their fangs in our veinsGot their voice in our headGot our arms in their gripsNo, we can’t shake freeThis goddamn machine, hungry and heartlessMy whole generation got lost in the marginWe put our faith in you and you turned a profitNow we’re drowning here under the waves(We’re no saviors if we can’t save our brothers)Drowning out under the waves(We’re no saviors if we can’t save our brothers)Drowning out, drowning out…You can’t have my friends,You can’t have my brothers.You can’t have my friends,You can’t have my brothers.You can’t have my friends,You can’t have my brothers.You can’t have meNo, you can’t have me.” ~Cigarettes and SaintsThe Wonder Years, No Closer To Heaven